


Coda For Flight

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel takes his daughter trick-or-treating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coda For Flight

  
Dean collapses onto the sofa in exhaustion once he's all finished with her costume, all sewn, fitted, and dressed.

A month ago, Mary had come home and asserted that for Halloween she wanted to be a butterfly, and Dean, unable deny her anything but the very best, set forth planning to make her the perfect costume. His sewing skills have been kept up to snuff over the last few years by grace of Mary's Halloween excursions, but he wants to set himself a _real_ challenge this time. He wants to outdo himself, and what better excuse than for his only daughter. So he spends 3 weeks, on and off in his free time, making giant, intricately painted wings that strap on to his daughter's back. 

Castiel, for his part, is very, very impressed, and the night before Halloween, he shows him _just how much_ in bed.

Mary, though, is uneasy throughout the final fitting, and it's only when her and Castiel have stepped outside, leaving Dean to a slow recovery from the trials of the sewing machine, that she expresses exactly why. Once they reach the curb outside their house, she stops abruptly, and sits down on the ground.

"The wings are too big," she frowns, sounding positively _mournful_.

Castiel doesn't exactly know the protocol for this. Normally, Mary can't sit _still_ for want of going out and trick-or-treating, but tonight she seems to have given up on the idea before the evening has even really begun.

Quietly, Castiel sits down next to her, cross-legged, with his hands folded in his lap. "I had wings once," he tells her, an opening of solidarity, but also something he feels like he should finally share with her, after all these years.

Mary's frown, if possible, deepens, being at that age now where she is harder and harder to fool. "What?" she eyes him skeptically.

"A lot bigger than these, too," Castiel adds, stroking a hand along the edge of the wing spreading out from Mary's back.

"Papa, people don't have _wings_ ," Mary says scoldingly.

Castiel smiles. Well, at least he has her listening. "Have you ever known me to be like most people?" he asks, and as expected that point gives her pause, and she goes quiet.

After a beat, she speaks up again, voice small but curious. "What happened to them?" she asks, intuitive enough to ask it slightly nervously, afraid it might be something terrible. Castiel is afraid to tell her it was something much more terrible than she has the perspective to realise, but loss, he thinks, is something anyone can understand. She is also playing the role of a butterfly tonight, too: transformation is also familiar.

"They were... lost," he says simply, not wanting to get into details too morbid for a seven year old to handle.

But Mary's curiosity is persistent. It is something he loves very much about her. "How?"

Castiel sighs, wondering how to word this. Finally, he opts for the simplest version of the truth. "They were stolen from me," he says.

Mary's face falls immediately. "I'm sorry," she says, and Castiel can tell she means it, _feels_ the pain that she imagines. "Did it hurt?"

Castiel must be honest. "It did. But it was a long time ago now," he says finally, in order to assuage her sadness. It is not a shallow sentiment, either, for time is indeed a better balm in hindsight than Castiel could have expected. He misses his wings, the way his Grace vibrate in rhythm with the sky, but his human heart too has its own rhythm. He doesn't regret the way it still beats, fast, slow, with Dean.

After another contemplative moment, Mary shifts in her spot until she gets up the courage to ask, "D'you have wings when you met Daddy?"

"I did," Castiel smiles, remembering. "He was--well. I think he was terrified of them. And of me." 

This shocks his daughter. "He was _scared_ of you?"

"Your father and I did not get on very well when we first met," Castiel chuckles. Hell, they didn't get on very well even years _after_ they'd met, for various reasons. But they're mostly past that kind of confusion now, and Castiel, he is grateful.

Mary scrunches her nose. "That's silly."

"Yes, it was," Castiel agrees. "It was a very serious time in our lives, and we were both caught up in our own problems, but... time does have a way of making the past feel silly. Your father and I were very silly around each other for a long time," he tells her, and though it's true it's also a _definite_ understatement. She will certainly come to understand _that_ kind of conflict when she's older.

"So then you see," he continues his persuasion, "when you grow up, and look back, you'll feel very silly for disliking these gorgeous wings that Daddy made for you." 

Her resolve teeters. "I guess..."

"Why don't you like them?" Castiel finally asks.

"They're so _big_."

"Well, they're proportional. A butterfly's wings must be large to accommodate the weight of its body if it is going to be able to fly," Castiel points out very reasonably. One of his parenting goals is to impart tools of logic and reason. He never thought _Halloween_ would be a lesson in that, for the whole concept of the holiday is general frivolity, but he's also not one to throw away a perfect moment. _Not anymore,_ he thinks ruefully, thinking back to the long, arduous journey he's made with Dean.

"Every one's gonna stare at me," Mary says, hanging her head.

"And staring is bad?"

" _Yes_ ," she impresses. "It means they're _laughing_. Or gonna laugh."

"They,"--whoever _'they'_ are, Castiel wonders--"have very poor taste in costumes, then. And let me tell you, these are nothing. My wings use to span..." he glances around them for an adequate comparison. Of course, there is nothing earthly that really _exists_ as an adequate comparison to an angel's wings, but he will try. He settles on their own house behind them. "As wide as this house. Your father _did_ stare at them, but it wasn't out of laughter."

"Did he like them?"

"I... don't know," Castiel answers honestly. "I don't think he saw enough of them. He was _impressed_ , though, I like to think," he smiles to himself.

"Do you miss them? Your wings?"

"Yes. They were a part of me and they were mine."

Mary, as thoughtful and tender as her other father in many ways, reaches her tiny fingers over to grab Castiel's much larger hand. "If you want," she says slowly, as if embarassed to be making the offer for fear of rejection ( _another similarity between her and Dean_ , Castiel thinks with great affection), "you could borrow mine."

Castiel shakes his head. "And strip a beautiful butterfly of its wings? I could never do such a thing," he explains seriously. "How about, instead, I get to see you enjoy yours."

As if embodying her costume, Mary leaps up, still holding Castiel's hand, and tugs, imploring him to stand up with her. It seems she has had a rapid change of heart, now that she can rationalise her effort as helping her father. She has a kind soul, and Castiel is proud of her.

"Papa, did you used to be a butterfly?" Mary asks, lightly skipping beside him as they walk down the middle of the darkening street.

"No, sweetheart. But I am now," he answers cryptically.

"That doesn't make any sense," she chastises.

"It doesn't have to make sense to be true."

"Papa!"

"Alright, I'll stop," Castiel laughs. "But only if--! You go trick-or-treating with me. Daddy will be very disappointed if we get home and it turns out he has no candy to steal."

"He's not stealing _any_ of mine," Mary asserts _very_ adamantly.

Castiel places his free hand over his heart. "I will promise to defend your hoard."

"I don't need any help _protecting my own candy_ ," she denies him. "I'll... whip him with my wings like Butterfree."

"This is another--"

"Pokémon, Papa, _gosh,"_ she rolls her eyes at him. _"_ Even _Daddy_ knows that."

"My apologies," Castiel says, and then stops walking, as they arrive in the road between two houses. "So, first house?" he asks her.

"Mmm... that one," she points to the large, blue one on the right. 

"Excellent. Will you do me the favour of flying me there?" he looks down at her. "I've lost my wings, you see, and yours look very sturdy."

Mary's eyes light up. "They are!"

"Oh! Well then, you must show me."

"Come _on,_ Papa," Mary tugs his hand, leading him up to the house, as if it was _him_ keeping them delayed this whole while. He doesn't mind the accusation one bit.


End file.
